


Te deseo

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eames' sprawling thighs, Frottage, M/M, Rimming, Speedos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ode to Eames' thighs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Te deseo

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

"I really like being here," Arthur remarks.

"What, Barcelona?" Eames looks surprised and a bit puzzled. He pulls briefly at his lower lip with his upper teeth; Arthur thinks it’s a mostly unconscious gesture.

"No, between your thighs," Arthur answers, biting the firm swell of muscle that curves over the inside of Eames' right knee.

"Ah," Eames says, ears turning pink. 

“I mean it,” Arthur says, sensing the way Eames tenses up, no longer relaxing into the soft, plush mattress and snow-white sheets. His skin against the pure blank whiteness is pink and gold, tan, with the matte black of ink in the amber light coming from the night table. There’s a sheen of sweat on his skin. They’ve barely even gotten started. Eames is naked and spread out before Arthur like a feast, the salt scent of the Mediterranean still warm on him. Their Speedos are drying on the towel bar.

“It’s all right, I suppose,” Eames says, grinning, one forearm going behind his head as he lets his legs part further, relaxing under Arthur again. He looks like the Barberini Faun, casually exhibitionist, but only for Arthur, aware of himself in a way the slumbering Faun never could be.

“I know what I like,” Arthur says, shifting forward, gently but persistently pressing him further open, sensing the catch in Eames’ breath that also results in him parting his plush lips for a sangria-tasting kiss.

Eames hooks a surprisingly delicate ankle over Arthur’s hip, and Arthur wants to rub against him, feel his lightly haired, warm, firm thighs against his cock. He does, pressing into the crease of his thigh, and Eames chuckles softly into the kiss. Arthur shifts back, and Eames is grinning at him.

“Have my thighs set you aflame, love?” He winks.

“Something like that, Ganymede.” Arthur raises himself up on one arm, and wraps his free hand around Eames’ cock, fingers loose. He presses his own flush against it, from balls to tip, and keeping it in place with his thumb he starts to move. Eames is staring between them, engrossed, and his skin is warmer, damper. 

“Can you take over?” Arthur prompts. Eames’ hand replaces his, and he’s able to balance himself for less precarious thrusting. Eames is almost arching up off the bed to press his hips upward, maintaining that sweet, perfect friction. 

Arthur takes it in long, slow strokes, from Eames’ root to tip. He watches the way Eames can’t help himself from shuddering when Arthur’s just under his frenulum. Glancing down, he sees how they’re slicking up Eames’ fingers and belly, precome dabbing the pout of his navel. Arthur looks to Eames’ face, which is flushed, his lips slightly parted, slick and pink from kissing. He’s still staring at their cocks.

Arthur says, “This is all I could think about today, with you walking around in those fucking Speedos,” and Eames looks up, blinking, startled, needing a moment to process that he’s being spoken to.

“Isn’t that my line?” he says, seemingly the exact moment his brain catches up.

Arthur laughs. “So you did notice,” he teases.

“All of bloody Barcelona noticed. I had to keep close to shoo everyone off!” Eames squeezes their cocks more tightly together now, and he’s starting to pant. 

“Had to keep me all to yourself?” Eames rolls his hips upward and Arthur gasps. “You come first,” Arthur practically orders, knowing as he does that something in Eames for some reason responds to Arthur bossing him around. It works this time, too, with just a few moments more.

No sooner has Eames’ orgasm wracked him than is Arthur scooping up come from his cock and belly, sitting back ever so slightly to wrap his slick hand around himself. Tight and fast jerks. Eames’ cock is still pulsing, his thighs still spread wide; Arthur aims for the creases there, the secretly meeting planes and curves of him, presented for Arthur to see, to mark. His come mats and darkens the hair on those muscled thighs. 

On impulse, Arthur bends, holding Eames still pressed apart, and licks the come from his creases, his balls, his entrance. Eames gives a shout as Arthur’s pointed tongue slides into him. Arthur flutters it, and Eames actually squirms.

Not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one, Arthur raises his head. Eames is red all over, staring at him, dazed. He clears his throat. “Yes. Well.”

“Sor--”

“Don’t apologize,” Eames says immediately, breathless. “That was….” He swallows. “Lovely.” He closes his eyes, and Arthur gives him a moment. Eames is getting hard again. Arthur smoothes a hand up his thigh, surprised. He himself could certainly get hard again, fairly soon, with some effort, but he wouldn’t have expected Eames to be ready first.

“Do that again,” Eames urges, spreading his thighs yet further and tilting his hips up. “Please,” he adds quickly.

Arthur eats him out: slow, shallow (Eames seems to like it best when he’s just teasing at him there, sliding out to lick his perineum or balls and then back down; his breath catches sharply on each pass) and yet thorough. His hands hold Eames’ thighs far enough apart that it has to be uncomfortable, but Eames shows no sign of it, finally stroking himself off with muttered gasps as Arthur’s tongue works into him, venturing deeper as he comes. 

As Eames lays back, panting, Arthur kneels between his thighs and jerks off once more, hasty and clumsy this time, coming all over Eames’ belly and thighs. 

Looking at him now, Arthur thinks of him in a meeting that morning, composed and watchful, outlining his plans to the group. Arthur watched him in his pale linen suit and kept picturing him naked and under him, disheveled and wanton; it had been too long. As usual, Arthur’s imaginings of Eames are eclipsed by stunning, sharp reality, despite everything he’s capable of in dreams.

He stumbles to the sink to rinse with the stinging mouthwash, and returns to the bed with a warm wet cloth. After wiping Eames clean, he layers himself onto him.

Eames rests his legs on either side of his hips, wrapping his arms around him. 

“So you did like those Speedos,” is all Eames says, finally, low, a grin in his voice.

Arthur snorts.

**Author's Note:**

> [The Barberini Faun](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Barberini_Faun_front_Glyptothek_Munich_218_n2.jpg), for any reader unfamiliar with it. (And [Ganymede](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ganymede_%28mythology%29), whose thighs set Zeus aflame. I'm just entertained by the idea of Ganymede = Eames and Zeus = Arthur.) 
> 
> Thanks to [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/) and Liz for all your help!


End file.
